


There May Be Something Left

by MayeveStorm



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft Youtubers, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author kinda just wants to write oneshots but made this monstrosity instead, Canonical Character Death, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Familial Relationships, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, I never understood why until I had to write them, No Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Relationship Tags to Be Added - Freeform, Some Plot, Tags Are Hard, Vague abuse of canon, author doesn't know where this is going, no beta we die like wilbur soot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayeveStorm/pseuds/MayeveStorm
Summary: "Dying isn’t what people think it to be. Wilbur Soot would describe it as a bleak coming to awareness. It seems, there was no god for people like him."orWilbur Soot finds himself in the charred remains of a nation he helped to build and destroy. Now, he faces his unfinished symphony one last time.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Sleepy Bois Inc. - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	There May Be Something Left

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, its your local angst gremlin you've probably seen stalking your comment section. Welcome to the plot bunny that just wouldn't leave my head until it was on paper.
> 
> Full disclosure, I haven't posted fanfiction since 2016 so please be gentle with me.

The smell of gunpowder still burned his nostrils. The explosions still rung in his ears. The whirling thoughts of _destroy, mine, unfinished- always unfinished-_ still nauseously swam about his head. 

The cry of his father. 

The bite of a cold diamond blade. 

A shaky exhale. 

Then nothing at all.

* * *

Dying isn’t what people think it to be. Wilbur Soot would describe it as a bleak coming to awareness. It seems, there was no god for people like him. 

No heaven, no hell. 

Only a dark expanse of nothing as you realize where you are- or perhaps where you aren’t. As you realize what you’ve lost, and that you have nothing left. 

Nowhere to go, nothing to lose, nothing to feel. 

So, he did what any seemingly dead man would do. He looked around, chose a direction, and walked. It felt like walking through water, each step agonizingly slow as he struggled to put one leaden leg in front of another, but he made do. There was nothing else to be done. He supposed you could just sit and, maybe, wallow in your self-pity? No, he reasoned, it’d be much better to spend the apparent eternity in motion, thank you. 

The dark expanse never changed as he walked. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours, maybe days. The time seemed to blur together into muffled, shuffling footsteps and sluggish thoughts. 

Eventually he stopped looking forward, just watching the slow progress his feet made against the inky black below. One soft thump after another, eerily reminiscent of his once beating heart, now still. It would almost be funny, if he felt he could bring himself to feel anything at all. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

He refused to stop that steady pace; he didn’t know if he’d start again if he did. 

Then, in his peripheral- almost tauntingly cliché- he saw a glimmer. Just a moment of light in the dark, like a star in a never-ending night. So brief he could have imagined it. But it was enough. 

He changed directions again. Something inside his aching, vacant chest drawing him towards it. It filled him with an energy he hadn’t felt since he... 

He was walking. Then running. Then sprinting. Sprinting as that once faint glimmer became bigger and brighter. Sprinting as memories of a nation, a war, an election, a _fall_ came flooding back. Memories of a father, two brothers of choice, and an adopted son. 

He ran, tears streaming down his face for a family he lost. 

He ran as it all flashed by in vivid color as the white, blinding light took over the void that had smothered him.

* * *

Dying isn’t what people think it to be. 

There are no pearly gates, nor a decent to hell. 

As in life, there is darkness and there is light. There is a choice to be made, and for those who choose to push forward- for those who prove themselves worthy- there is an offer.

* * *

Wilbur Soot knew there was no god for people like him. 

But as he stood in behind a bench overlooking a valley below as shifting white light stretched as far as he could fathom, he reckoned there just might be something left. 

He sat and watched as a breeze he couldn’t feel rustled the leaves of the trees below. He watched as flowers waved and grass swayed and the small valley faded into the light. Wilbur would think it beautiful if he couldn’t feel the way the world swirled with wrong. Of course it wasn’t real. He was dead. 

His eyes didn’t leave the rippling water as another presence sat down, too. 

“You did well to find yourself here, after everything.” 

Wilbur hummed noncommittally; the water was starting to still below. 

“Most are able to rest in death, while others find they left far too much behind to.” 

The sounds of screaming and explosions and a cut-off shout of his name briefly flash by, and Wilbur draws a leg up onto the bench to disguise his flinch. “Most people don’t blow up the nation they built and put countless lives at risk.” 

“I suppose not,” the figure seemed to laugh. 

There was silence, for a moment. 

“Why am I here?” Wilbur asks plainly, brushing his unkempt curls away from his face as he looked up and tried to remember the color the sky should be. 

“That entirely depends on what you want.” 

How was he supposed to answer that? He wanted to go back. He wanted to make things better. He wanted to make things up to the people he left behind. He wanted to apologize, and maybe- just maybe- say goodbye, too. 

But he was dead. He wasn’t allowed to wish for those kinds of chances. He didn’t get second chances. 

“I can make you an offer. A chance to put your regrets, and yourself, to rest.” 

“How can you possibly make an offer like that?” 

The figure laughed again, shaking the bench they sat on just a bit. 

“I can give you time. Time enough to right the wrongs you left behind. Time enough to mend the damages you caused.” They shifted, presumably to turn towards him. 

“Time enough to say goodbye.” 

Wilbur finally allowed his gaze to fall on the figure beside him. Tired eyes took in the shifting, white, humanoid mass offering a spectral hand to him. 

“What's the catch? It can’t be that simple.” 

The specter gestured the offered hand about, “Well, you can take my offer and try to resolve any unfinished business, or you can stay here, waiting out the eternity instead.” The figure offers the hand again. “It seems an obvious choice to me.” 

“So, I’d be...” 

“Yes, yes. You would be a ghost,” the swirling white swam a bit harsher in annoyance, “‘Cursed to walk the mortal realm until you find eternal rest’, or whatever they’re saying nowadays. Point is, you stay here, or you can face the music and finish what you started.” 

And, well, when he put it like that, how could Wilbur refuse. 

“Anything for them.” He nodded resolutely, taking the hand as it all flashed white.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have *no idea* where this is going so if you have any ideas of where you'd like to see this go, let me know in the comments. I'm just here thinking about Ghostbur and the implications of such a thing far too much. 
> 
> Wil: Death was just a black void  
> Me: WRITE THAT DOWN. WRITE THAT DOWN  
> Wil: There is no god when you die  
> Me: Here, have a white void entity of unknown origin or powers. Who are they? I definitely don't know.
> 
> If you enjoyed PLEASE comment/kudos/subscribe!! I'd love to get some feedback <33


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